Arrival
by Crysania
Summary: A Prequel to the Catatonic!Belle series. Emma arrives in Storybrooke and Gold remembers.


He steps out, smile still in place. He suspects it looks more like a grimace than a smile. If anyone passed by at that very moment they would see Mr. Gold, town monster, the bane of all their existence, huddled against the side of Granny's Bed and Breakfast, eyes bleak, mouth frozen in a sad representation of his usual smirk.

He is not Mr. Gold, though.

Not anymore.

_She_ has arrived.

And with her has come memories. Countless memories. Memories he's not sure he actually wants back. His memories in this world, in this little town, in this _Storybrooke_, are not particularly good. Reviled, repulsive, hated, alone. He is as he always was, minus the odd appearance and off-putting giggles. Regina has little imagination.

For him at least.

As he tries to catch his breath, his mind makes a quick study of all that the curse has given him. Knowledge of the world around them, the ability to handle the technology without its seeming foreign, but it has also given him a wife.

_A wife_.

And it takes him a moment to catch up, a moment to realize what has happened.

Belle.

She is alive. Or as much as one can call the state she is in "alive." She sits in his pawnshop even now, tended by nurses as he makes his rounds to collect the rent. She's silent and unassuming and does nothing more than sit in a chair, eyes open yet staring into space. She's a shell.

_Lights on, but no one is home_. He remembers the first nurse that had tended her, remembers coming in to hear her talking on the phone to someone. Using _his_ phone to disparage Belle. He had thrown her out without a second though. But he knows, somewhere deep inside, that the woman was right. There is nothing left of Belle here at the moment.

_The accident_. He knows how what that was about. She tried to leave town and Regina cannot have that. Everyone is trapped, trapped inside this little town with nowhere to go, living out the same days over and over again and never noticing.

28 years. He has memories of his time "before" the curse, before Belle was what she was now. But those are not real.

Throwing her in a dungeon, telling her to leave, sending her off believing that it was for the best, Regina's telling him she died. _Those_ memories were real.

_She died_. He wonders now how much of the story Regina told was true.

In a near panic, he forgets the car the curse has given him and makes his halting way to the pawnshop he owns. The key is in his pocket. He knows the bells on the door will jingle when he walks in, announcing his arrival to the nurse in the back. He knows this routine by heart, as if he had done it a thousand times before.

Perhaps he had, really.

28 years, he remembers. 28 years of collecting the same rent from the same people and seeing the same angry glares and frightened looks.

When he steps into the pawnshop, all is quiet. Of course it is. Usually he finds the nurse sitting near Belle, half asleep or reading. There is never any change.

But now _Emma_ is here and he can hear the name echoing within his mind. Emma has arrived and the clock has moved and things will begin to change. It's the first step in breaking the curse and he can already feel the tenuous threads of the magic weakening. None have fallen, none of have broken, but it's only a matter of time.

"Belle?" he calls out once the door is shut behind him.

He's greeted by the nurse he left her with just a few hours ago. She steps out from the back of the shop and in the darkness, he can barely see her. "Mr. Gold." The woman always sounds so serious when she greets him. He knows that's not her personality. He often hears her talking to Belle in a bright, happy voice, taking care of her with a kind efficiency that he was thankful for as Mr. Gold and so very relieved about as Rumplestiltskin.

"Any change?" It's the first time he's asked that and he can see the surprise in the way the young woman's eyes widen. He can see little else in the darkness, but he can see that much.

"No, sir. There's never been any change."

He nods and waves a tired hand in the air. "You may go then. I'll tend to her for the rest of the evening."

"She's been bathed sir. And changed. She's ready for bed" And then she turns to go, disappearing into the backroom.

"Thank you," he murmurs and realizes the words sound strange from his lips. He can't remember the last time he thanked anyone. He surely hasn't in this little town and he can't quite remember saying those words even back in their homeland. Maybe he had said them to Belle, though he's fairly certain his idea of a proper thank you was a grand gesture couched in an indifference Belle always could see through.

He steps into the back of the shop and Belle is there where she's always been. Seated in the chair, it rocks slightly, leftover motion from the nurse just leaving. Belle cannot push the chair on her own. She settles into complete stillness as he watches from just inside the room.

Belle.

_His_ Belle.

She is alive. She is breathing. She is _here_.

And she has been here all along.

A part of him wants to race off, wants to curse Regina to hell and back. But she doesn't know he's himself. She can't know that he built that into the curse. It's his way to play the game against her, work with the savior while seeming oblivious to it all. And so he cannot harm Regina. Not yet at least. He can't say the scenarios aren't playing out in his head. He can't say that he's not imagining 1001 ways that Regina might meet her end at his hands.

For now, though, he has more important things to worry about.

Belle still sits, slightly hunched over in the chair from where the nurse put her last. Her head is tilted slightly to the side, eyes wide open and staring. Her hands remain unmoving in her lap. Without thinking about it, he sets down his cane and steels himself for the hardship his twisted ankle will soon endure.

It's been a nightly ritual for as long as he can remember. _Two years_, his mind tells him. But he knows that's not true. In reality it's been 28 years. 28 years of carrying his Belle to bed. 28 years of cursing his aching ankle after setting her down gently. 28 years of covering her up, tucking her in, brushing his hand against her cheek. 28 years of sleeping awkwardly in the recliner he moved into the shop two years ago.

He's never home these days. It's become a place where he escapes for brief periods of time. Otherwise he very nearly lives in his shop, watching Belle, hoping she'll wake up. It's too difficult to bring her to the shop every day. And he won't leave her to languish alone for long hours when he can have her nearby.

He's more thankful than ever for that now.

As he has done every night for 28 years, he sits next to Belle on the cot and takes her hand in his. Tonight he won't read from a story. Tonight the story will be _theirs_.

"Belle," he finally whispers. He doesn't expect a response and he doesn't get one. He can barely get the next words out and feels something he hasn't felt in ages choking the words up in his throat. Tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." They're meaningless words really, but they're all he has at the moment.

She still doesn't move, doesn't so much as blink at the words. He sighs and leans down toward her. He can feel her breath fan out across his face. He hasn't been this close to her since…well, since a pretty young maid dared to lean across the divide and brush her lips against his.

_True love's kiss_.

Regina's right about that much. It can break any curse. It damn near broke his own before the Dark One reared its ugly head and forced true love away. Here things are different, his curse hidden somewhere away where he cannot access it. He does not hear the voices, the compulsion to do horrible things is lessened. He's still not the man he was before. He doesn't know if he'll ever be. With Belle's help…maybe.

It's really a bit of desperation, perhaps even more than a bit. But he keeps hearing the words in his head. _This means it's true love_.

Taking a deep breath, he presses his lips to hers. Hers are cold, still and he backs away, waits.

Ten seconds go by.

Twenty. He watches. How long does it take for true love to work?

A minute goes by.

Then another.

He's sure it should have worked by now.

But nothing. No movement, no change. Absolutely nothing. She is the same as she was before and for the first time he wonders if this is all she'll ever be.

With a sigh, he stands and releases her hand, tucking the covers tight around her as he has done every night for two..no…_28_…years. He retreats to his recliner. There he will keep his silent vigil at her bedside, sleeping near the woman he loves, even if he cannot reach her.

True love can break any curse. He wonders if theirs will ever be strong enough.


End file.
